Pack of Lies (2011)

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From Publishers Weekly Starred Review. Gilman follows 2010's Hard Magic with another winning mix of snappy writing and a fun and intelligent story about crime-solving magic users. Bonita Torres loves working with Private Unaffiliated Paranormal Investigations (PUPI), but the team's latest case, the attempted rape of a magical ki-rin's human companion, has her on edge. The ki-rin killed one assailant and partially disemboweled the other, and everything looks simple until the survivor claims she was used as bait. Human/nonhuman relations are already unstable and could explode if PUPI can't figure out what really happened. Riding on the case are a woman's reputation, a man's death, and the future of PUPI. Grabbing readers from the get-go, Gilman delivers style and substance with layers of mystery, science, politics, romance, and old-fashioned investigative work mixed with high-tech spellcraft. (Feb.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. We were surrounded, outnumbered, and out of luck. I risked a glance at my partner, and saw the same desperation on his face. We needed to think of something, something brilliant, something fast. Too late. There was a crack like thunder, lightning filling the entire room, and we both fell to the ground like someone slammed a two-by-four over our heads. A deep male voice pronounced our doom. "You're dead. Also, stupid." There really wasn't much to say to that. Of the four PUPIs in the room, Nick probably would have milked the death scene. Sharon would have argued her way into a second chance. Nifty wouldn't have been dead or stupid, probably. Pietr and I lay on the floor and were dead. Also, stupid. The deep voice continued. "Now. Can one of you surviving idiots tell me where your cohorts fucked up?" The voice belonged to Benjamin Venec. Top-notch magical Talent, experienced private investigator, owner of a pair of gorgeously intense brown-black eyes, and, along with Ian Stosser, one half of the leadership of Private Unaffiliated Paranormal Investigations, also known as PUPI. Yeah, Puppy. The jokes just write themselves, and we'd already made most of them. If we were PUPIs, though, Venec was Big Dog, and obedience school was in session. I loved my job, but this seriously was not my idea of how to start out a Monday morning, especially the Monday after my old college roommate's annual April Fool's Bacchanalia. My eyes felt like sandpaper, and I was cranky over more than getting killed. Even on a good day, I was emphatically not a morning person. Since Venec had moved on to his next victims, I risked raising my face from the carpet to see who of the remaining three PUPIs was going to chime in first. What, as Venec was always asking, did the available evidence tell me? Nick's shoes needed polishing, and the way he was rocking back into his heels suggested he wasn't going to volunteer. Sharon had toed off her two-inch heels, and there was a run in her left hose. That was unlike her, and I wondered briefly what epic catastrophe had hit her wardrobe that morning. Also, she was humming under her breath. She only did that when she was stumped, and was trying to scramble for an answer. That left only one person, but he was out of my line of sight. "Mister Lawrence?" His voice amused, our former college linebacker made the call. "They zigged when they should have zagged." Pietr, his face still down on the carpet, made a rude noise. Venec kicked him in the ribs, gently, and he subsided. Dead puppies weren't supposed to talk back. "Right," Venec said, his voice thick with disgust. "I stand corrected, you're all stupid. Dead bodies, off to the side. Sharon and Nick, you're up. Don't expect the attack to come in the same pattern. I'm not going to make it that easy for you." Easy. Hah. Pietr rolled over and jumped to his feet with annoying agility. Show-off. I sat up slowly, feeling my back crack in protest. Venec reached down and hauled me to my f